


Siesta

by Splinter



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Movie(s), Vaginal Fingering, Water Kink, heat wave
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-26
Updated: 2016-07-26
Packaged: 2018-07-27 00:09:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7595665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Splinter/pseuds/Splinter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's too hot to touch, much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Siesta

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this during a heat wave, in a country that doesn't go in for air conditioning. Of course I was also thinking of [battle_cat](http://archiveofourown.org/users/battle_cat/pseuds/battle_cat)’s wonderful fic [Heat Wave](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7301185).
> 
> I'm at [lurkinghistoric](http://lurkinghistoric.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr.

It’s so hot. In this season, people at the Citadel work early and late, eating and sleeping in the middle of the day. That’s the theory, at least. The past few days, the heat has made it hard to sleep. Tempers are short. Everyone frets over shading and sprinkler systems for the gardens. Cheedo fell asleep in a page of calculations, woke up with ink arithmetic on her cheek. At least they’re fairly safe from attack. Even Buzzards seek shade in this kind of weather. 

Furiosa is spread out naked on the bed. She's an enticing sight, but Max is in no state to do anything about it. He lies beside her, limbs outstretched but not touching. It’s too hot to fuck. It’s too hot to be. 

She makes a grumbling noise, fidgets. Max reaches over, holds his hand above her breast, just touching her nipple. He circles gently, hand held flat so that it doesn’t touch the rest of her breast, feeling the nipple harden and peak against his palm. Even that’s too close a touch: he can feel the heat coming off her skin, sweat forming on his palm. He takes his hand away, sighs in disappointment.

“What I’m going to do to you, when it’s cooler,” Furiosa murmurs.

“Looking forward to it,” he says.

“Which?”

“Cooler,” he admits. She laughs, almost in spite of herself; it takes too much energy. She lifts her hand as if to swat him, thinks better of it.

“Yeah,” she says, with a sigh.

They lie there in an exhausted doze, sweat pooling everywhere their bodies fold, everywhere skin touches skin. Time passes.

Furiosa gets up, a surge of activity that she seems to regret almost before she’s on her feet. She gets one of the water jugs from the stone cupboard, where she’s trying to keep them cool. Max watches her, still as a lizard basking on a sunbaked rock. 

She dips a cloth in the water, runs it over her face and neck. Her body shines in the light from the half-curtained window, a sheen of sweat on her skin, drops of water running down her breast. Unthinkingly, he licks his lips.

He doesn’t know if she noticed, but she dips the cloth again, sits on the side of the bed and sponges him, a cool, wet swipe across his chest. Max groans out loud at it. The moisture only seems to last an instant on his skin, but it cools him down for that moment. Furiosa turns the cloth and works downward, a zigzag across his torso, swiping down his arms. When she presses the cloth to his wrist, it makes him shiver. She moves on to his thighs and calves.

It feels wonderful: a touch that doesn’t overheat him, refreshment lingering on his skin. He sits up to take the cloth from her, dips it into the jug again. He smooths it over her face, down her shoulders. Her nipples tighten when he wipes her breasts; he’d kiss them, but the heat of his mouth would waste the coolness of the water. 

Furiosa flops down onto the bed, lying on her belly. Max strokes the wet cloth over her back and buttocks, down her thighs. Her toes curl when he wipes the soles of her feet.

Stroking back up, he lets the cloth press against her inner thigh. She sighs and shuffles, moving her legs further apart. She’s wet when he slips his hand between her thighs, pushing back against him when he slides a finger into her cunt. It’s too hot to be inside her, even at arm’s length. He strokes her instead, finding her clit and starting to work. With his other hand, he moves the cloth over the small of her back. She shivers. 

He’s sprawled beside her, where he can still reach the jug. His left hand is clumsier, or more careless; when he dips the cloth again, he brings it out too wet, so that water drips over her back. Furiosa shivers again, and gasps. This time, he holds the cloth over her and squeezes, letting water fall in drops over her thighs, her bum. The moan she lets out is filthy. 

He wipes a long stroke up her spine, then wets the cloth and drips water gently over her, watching her twitch and whimper. It doesn’t take long, after that; she’s already panting, rocking against his fingers. She comes at his next squeeze of the cloth.

Furiosa lies gasping for a moment, while he sponges her shoulders, stroking up her neck to her hairline. When she rolls over, she’s flushed and sweaty but smiling; he wets the cloth again, carefully wipes her face. She leans into it, then takes it from him. She works on his chest, his belly, stroking down to where his cock is already hard. 

She shuffles down the bed, then sits for a moment, obviously considering how to do this. Max can’t help smiling: she’s looking at him the way she looks at a problem engine, thinking out solutions. Then she gets onto her knees and elbows, braced so there’s as much air around her body as possible, and swallows him down.

She moves her hand in to stroke, but soon decides that will get too hot; her wrist gets slippery with sweat where it touches his thigh. Mostly, she uses her mouth, fast and hard and determined. Max lies back under her, propped on his elbows and watching her. 

It’s too hot, in all senses, and this is only making him hotter. He doesn’t want her to stop. He loves the feel of her mouth, and her determination. Lingering sex isn’t an option in this weather, so she’s obviously decided to get him off as fast as she possibly can. There is nothing perfunctory about it: she teases the head of his cock with her tongue, then immediately gulps him deeper while stroking his balls. She’s trying to do his favourite things all at once, or as close as she can get them. He’d laugh if he weren’t already moaning.

It makes him think of the noise she’d made earlier. He finds and wets the cloth, drips water over her neck and shoulders. She moans around his cock, and Max gasps at it, the sight and sound of her sending a pulse right through him, making his stomach muscles twitch and clench. She reaches up, grabs his hand with the cloth still in it, and grips hard, so that water runs over his belly, over her shoulder. He grunts and gulps as he comes. 

She swallows some of it, but gives up part way, too flushed and hot. He’s a mess, sticky and sweaty and overheated. She’s just as bad. Standing up is a slow, awkward business. Furiosa gets the larger can of water out of the cold cupboard. They wash separately, which is cooler and faster, gulping down cups of water.

Back on the bed, Max lies beside her, sprawled out. He touches two fingers to her outstretched palm, as much contact as either of them can bear. Her fingers twitch, so he does it again before dropping his hand to the bed beside hers, a finger’s width apart.

“What would you do?” To him, he means. “When it’s cooler.” There’s a pause.

“Got a list,” she says, her voice sleepy now rather than just exhausted. Max hums, because there is nothing he doesn’t like about this. He’s still thinking about it as he falls asleep.


End file.
